


Cynicism's Contagious

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV), Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2488589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fight. They're always fighting. Often as not, when Castiel, Jack and Constantine aren't facing the same direction, they're lashing out at one another. It could almost count as foreplay, if it wasn't so damned serious all the time. This thing, it's a time bomb ticking down the seconds to doomsday. Could be their personal apocalypse, could be the world's. But at least they've got some common ground, there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cynicism's Contagious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JadeyKins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeyKins/gifts).



John Constantine crouched like a predator on the coffee table, a near-spent cigarette in his lips. The regular thread of smoke hazed the negative space while he watched both Castiel and Jack Harkness in turn. Detroit filled the massive windows behind them with snow, lending a wan blue light to the dark space.

Castiel leaned forward, interrupting Constantine’s meditations. He didn’t reach out for the cigarette; time and experience warned him better. He smoothed his palm along Constantine’s thigh instead, where it nested around his own knee. The low couch put Castiel’s face on level with the magician’s.

The smoking continued; ashy exhales washed across Castiel’s cheeks. He tried not to grit his teeth.

Suddenly, Constantine’s eyes locked on his. Castiel felt the edge of power, dark magic brushing over an angel’s Grace with a hum like two naked powerlines. The cigarette butt sketched a glowing smirk.

"Don’t try so hard, Feathers," Constantine purred, plucked Castiel’s hand and pushed his cheek right into the cupped palm. His eyes closed. "You play a pretty, _pretty_  long game, but I’m not in the mood.”

“ _John_ ,” Castiel growled.

”I’ll pass,” Jack said, sharp. His presence was a rigid shadow at Castiel’s back. A soldier’s silhouette at attention, dark against the chilly window. He kept Castiel between himself and the man seated on the coffee table. “Not playing gravedigger for you. You wanna bury this, I’m not helping.”

“ _Beautiful_ ,” Constantine replied, “never asked,” but he backed out of Castiel’s touch. The hand stayed there a moment, hugging the negative space. Castiel laced his fingers together between his knees.

"You should have told us about your nightmares," Castiel said. He tried for gentle, but irritation tightened his jaw.

The last of the cigarette ground into the tabletop and Constantine pushed his face right up to Castiel’s. “Last I checked, we were the fuckin’  _league_  of extraordinary liars-by-omission.”

"You put us all at risk, Constantine!" Jack spat.

Constantine’s expression blanked at the use of his surname. He sat forward, chin lifting as he looked at Jack over Castiel’s head. “That’s on  _you_  for trusting me in the first place, sweetheart. I’m here for the extra hands and the fantastic sex. If that’s starting to inconvenience you boys,” he started to get up with a loose shrug, “I can—”

Castiel reacted without thinking.

_Whump_. Constantine’s ass landed hard on the coffee table, startling a squeak out of the heavy wooden joists. The whole place rattled a little on its fixtures.

Constantine blinked up in shock from between Castiel’s wrists. He frowned, eyes narrowing. “You won’t do that again, Feathers. I can promise you.”

"You forget the company you keep, John Constantine," Castiel snapped.

"Oh,  _formal_  now, are we?”

"Shut up," Castiel growled, slowly. Constantine used words to build walls. Every flippant reply was stone and mortar between the man and whatever honesty remained in him.

Which wasn’t much.

Constantine - blessedly - obeyed.

"What you did tonight wasn’t lying, John - keeping this weakness to yourself was arrogance. You’ve had a glimpse of my scars, and Jack’s. I don’t tolerate your _incessant_  smoking because I find your  _innocence_  appealing.”

"I’m your own personal headcase, then, is it?"

"Yeah," Jack interrupted, still at the window. Still at a remove. "These last two months, you’ve just been another project." Sarcasm bit the heart from his voice. Castiel wanted to touch him, and didn’t. Doing so would solidify them as a team, make it us-against-John.

Instead, he raised his eyes to Constantine’s again. “You’re dangerous. A nuisance. A liability of astronomical proportions. You could crack this planet like an egg with your entanglements.”

Constantine barked a laugh.

Castiel stared him down. “So could  _I_ ,” he said, “so could  _Jack_. He matters to me because he knows this. As do you.”

Constantine stared at him. “ _Please_  tell me we’re not fucking because you like the occasional apocalyptic natter over coffee.”

"We’re  _fucking_ ,” Castiel pelted the word back at Constantine like a handful of gravel, “because we  _chose_  to. I’m  _here_  because you treat me like a comrade, not a weapon. Was I wrong to believe you appreciate the same?”

Constantine went still under Castiel’s hands; he withdrew them. Time ticked off in silence, marked only by the faint scrape of a plow on the street below. Castiel watched him twitch, go for the squashed pack of cigarettes in his pocket; stop short. The man chuckled to himself and pushed his fingers through the short shock of blond hair until it stood around his head like a halo.

"You care too much for fellas your age, you know that, right?" Constantine asked, looking up again.

"Not me," Jack shrugged, "all him." There was a grin in his voice.

"And you can come out from back there, Jack. Not gonna infect you."

Jack shook his head, but came to the back of the couch and slid a hand through Castiel’s hair. He switched on a lamp with his free hand, and detached himself from the shadows. “Cynicism’s contagious.”

"So’s  _hope_ ,” Constantine offered with a smile that involved most of his features, “but na worries, they cancel out. So. If you need these nightmares, I need a good strong drink in my hand. What’s on tap?”


End file.
